


and prosper

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Multi, Pon Farr, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: "Well, you look like shit," Lovett said brightly, cutting straight to the chase as usual. He was flushed pinker than normal, and through the screen, it looked like he was in his quarters on the second deck. "Please let the record show that I'm very annoyed with you right now. I can't believe you didn't tell me about thisVulcan sex fugue, what the hell, Tommy."





	and prosper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radialarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the night is for hunting (the day is for sleep)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021691) by [radialarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch). 



> dear winterfold, i'd apologize for taking a throwaway joke from your original story and running with it, but i'm not actually that sorry ;) i hope you enjoy this! ♥

"I told you," Lovett was muttering when Tommy came to, the gentle swinging motion beneath him making his head swim. He kept his eyes closed. "I told you this mission was a bad idea."

"Did you?" Jon's tight voice came from above and behind him. "That's interesting." He sounded worried, which Tommy had come to expect over the past year and a half of deep space exploration; Tommy was just more used to having to help Jon draft up after-action briefings to send to Commander Pfeiffer than being on the other side of things. "Because I seem to recall that you were _so_ excited to investigate the foliage on Bajor V, all those major breakthroughs you could make if you could just figure out how the indigenous plant life grew without a consistent source of… what was it? Light?"

There was a pregnant pause, and then Lovett whispered viciously, "Well, maybe if you'd _shared_ everything you knew about—about Tommy, we wouldn't be here right now."

Jon made a wounded noise. "Aren't you the one always talking about doctor-patient confidentiality?"

" _You_ aren't a doctor, Jon! I am!"

"Could you guys maybe keep it down a little?" Tommy croaked, finally cracking his eyes open to see Lovett's pale, startled face, and promptly leaned over the edge of the gurney to dry heave.

 

 

By the time Lovett helped him sit up and Jon came back with a glass of water, Tommy had managed to somewhat piece together most of the events leading up to that point. "What happened after the acid rain?" he asked drily, the corner of his mouth twitching when Jon winced.

Bajor V was supposed to have been clean and simple, a by-the-book expedition, the kind they'd already made on several M-class planets. No fuss, no frills. Tommy had volunteered to go down with the science department's landing party; the ship's transmitters were picking up some odd psionic readings, and Tommy wanted to investigate further.

He had assumed the readings were benign, which was pretty stupid in retrospect. Tommy should've expected that interactions with another telepathic entity might cause more unpleasant side effects. The spate of acid rain had been the third thing the planet had thrown at them after they landed, following a surprise stampede of wildebeest-like animals native to Ensign Cone's home planet and a rocky avalanche reminiscent of the ones on Vulcan.

"No maiming, if that's what you're asking," Lovett said at last, waving a tricorder so close to Tommy's face that he went a little cross-eyed for a moment. It seemed that everyone else in the landing party had returned to the USS Hope in various states of physical and mental distress, but Lovett and his medical staff had dealt with all of it in short order. Well, almost all of it. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Tommy said automatically, but he couldn't suppress the shudder that ran up his spine when he tried to swing his legs off the gurney.

"Bullshit," Lovett replied, firmly pressing him down against the thin mattress again. "Let's try that one more time. How do you feel, really?"

"Feverish," Tommy said, frowning, because that was simpler than the whole truth.

"Yeah, you do look greener than usual, and that's saying something." Lovett bustled toward the back of the sickbay to rummage through the organized chaos in his office. Tommy swallowed thickly, downing the rest of his water. He looked up to see Jon leaning back against an empty gurney and staring at him, arms crossed, chewing on his lip.

"Shouldn't you be running a starship somewhere?" Tommy tried. Jon didn't smile.

"Is it," Jon said quietly, mouth twisting. "You know."

Tommy let his eyes slide briefly shut, made himself inhale long and deep and slow. The first time he'd experienced anything close to pon farr, he was thirteen and able to meditate it away with help from his mom. At twenty, he'd done it alone. The third time, at the Academy, he'd had Jon.

The hot press radiating up from his gut now felt worse than all those times combined, and it was also several years too early. He wasn't due till after their three-year mission in deep space; Jon had made sure, at Tommy's request, to time it that way.

"Maybe," Tommy said reluctantly, keeping his voice low. "Doesn't feel like it has in the past. It's hard to expl—"

"What are you two whispering about?" Lovett murmured, two inches away from him, and Tommy didn't have time to think. His body just reacted. One moment, he was lying on the gurney, trying to control his breathing, and the next, he had Lovett pinned against the far wall, thigh slotting between Lovett's legs, two fingers pressed against the bare skin of Lovett's neck.

"Tommy," Lovett said, eyes wide.

Tommy could hear Lovett's heart pounding, could feel himself getting lost in the rush of Lovett's blood. Everything was too loud all of a sudden, too loud and too bright and too much, like the longer he touched Lovett, the more every single one of his senses seemed to go haywire, flooding every channel of thought until Tommy couldn't register anything over the crushing tide of _want_. He could feel it in his fucking teeth. In the clench of his jaw, in the thump of Lovett's pulse. Lovett was, by dint of his charming personality, the quintessential exacerbator, a fact that Tommy had become intimately familiar with over the course of their friendship, but this was a lot, even for him.

Through the current of raw feeling, two trembling hands reached up to touch Tommy's cheeks, his temples, the slender, pointed tips of his ears. "Tommy, can you hear me?"

Tommy blinked hard, once, twice, and then broke. "Sorry," he gasped, staggering away somehow, even though every cell in his body was screaming at him to go back. Get closer. "Shit, I'm—sorry, I didn't mean to touch you."

"Tom," Jon said, taking a step toward him.

"No," Tommy said, and it didn't occur to him until Jon flinched that he'd shouted it. "No," he repeated, softer. "Please don't follow me."

He didn't stick around long enough to hear them protest.

 

 

Dad's parents came from old money back on Earth. That was one of the first things Tommy had learned about that side of the family; that and the fact that Grandpa and Grandma Vietor really hadn't wanted their eldest son to join Starfleet at all, let alone marry outside of the species, even if Vulcans were supposed to be the— _cough into hand, polite disbelief_ —higher life form. It wasn't as though Mom's people had been especially pleased about their ambassador to Earth changing her name to something so plebeian as _Louise_ , either. No love lost on either side there.

Tommy was the first of his kind: half-Vulcan, half-human. He would always be different, no matter what.

By the time Tommy left Vulcan and started school with kids twice his age in Boston, Dad had remarried a nice human lady, and a few years later Tommy had been presented with a baby sister. He loved Taylor more than most things in the world, the same way he loved his dad, but neither of them had been able to help when Tommy turned thirteen and woke up sick with something none of the human doctors could diagnose.

 _The first pon farr's the hardest_ , Mom had told him, the voice in his head as gentle and soothing as cool water. Tommy had believed her then, but he didn't think she'd ever experienced anything like _this_.

If it had been hard to ignore before, after waking up in sickbay, it was even more difficult now that he'd had a brief taste of what his body thought it needed. Tommy hoped he didn't nod too jerkily when he passed Lieutenants Wick and Gilliard, and he at least had the wherewithal to reroute around the mess hall so he wouldn't run into anyone heading to dinner. There was value in the possibility of wearing himself out through sparring, but in the end, he decided to avoid the gyms on the fourth floor of the starship altogether. It wasn't a great idea, going where more people could be.

Instead, Tommy disappeared into the bowels of the ship. Tanya didn't like it when other people bothered her down here. Tinkering with the engines outside of standard Starfleet protocol meant that the less anyone else knew about the specifics, the better. As long as Tommy didn't fuck with the propulsion system too much, she'd probably give him as wide a berth as possible.

It was warmer down here, anyway; Tommy was starting to sweat already just standing fifty feet out from the warp core. He wouldn't be disturbed. He could sit in the bright blue glow of the nacelles and meditate his way out of this, just like Mom taught him. All he needed was time, and peace, and quiet.

 

 

Most Vulcan meditation practices involved focusing the mind rather than emptying it. Tommy's favorite, the one he always came back to even on days when he wasn't struggling with neurochemicals gone wild, was adapted from one of the earliest exercises Mom had taught him as a kid, and involved sailing. Tommy would close his eyes and picture himself in a Hobie, the same catamaran boats he and Dad would take out on the water in Cape Cod over long summers on Earth. He'd be caught in a squall, the rain coming down in thick, sudden sheets, the deck slippery beneath his bare feet. But the storm never lasted, because Tommy didn't let it. Something about being able to control the weather in his mind, calm the raging sea, always made him feel better. More grounded.

He'd done it a lot the year his parents split up. There were so many things he had just begun to understand—like why the other kids on Vulcan always seemed to sneer at him, why the adults whispered about his parents when they thought he couldn't hear—but Tommy could escape into the recesses of his mind for a little while and find something better to hold onto. At Starfleet Academy, he'd swapped it out in favor of more physical activity, hand-to-hand combat wearing him out and taking his thoughts off of the acute anxieties of school and training, but some afternoons he'd still sink down onto the floor, fall into the comforting patterns of more familiar rhythms, and wouldn't come back up until Jon barged through the door and badgered him to go get dinner.

No such luck today. Every time Tommy tried to settle into the technique, visualize the turbulent ocean, just when he thought he could feel the salt water stinging his eyes and the rough rope rubbing across the calluses on his palms, his body yanked him back into the present. Tommy couldn't stop thinking about how Lovett's throat had bobbed under his hand, Jon's imploring gaze, the lightning dancing beneath his own skin. On Bajor V, the psionic presence living on the planet had thrown Tommy one last curveball before he'd passed out: an image of Jon and Lovett, their lifeless bodies strewn among the rest of the crew, Tommy's hands bruised and battered and bloody. Classically, in the millenia before Vulcans had mastered the art of meditation, there were only three paths out of pon farr's fight-or-fuck response: kill or mate or die. Tommy wasn't full-blooded, which meant that everything about him was unpredictable, unprecedented. He had known, standing on the grassy hill with the rest of the landing party, that the vivid illusion blooming around him was fake, but as far as worst nightmares went—well. It was pretty bang-on.

 

 

According to his internal clock, nearly two hours had passed before the intercom closest to Tommy started beeping. He was surprised it took that long and considered ignoring the incoming call, but a hundred and fifteen minutes of storm-chasing had done much less for him than he would've liked, and there weren't a lot of other options on a tin can flying through the vastness of space.

"Well, you look like shit," Lovett said brightly, cutting straight to the chase. He was flushed pinker than normal, and through the screen, it looked like he was in his quarters on the second deck. "Please let the record show that I'm very annoyed with you right now. I can't believe you didn't tell me about this _Vulcan sex fugue_ , what the hell, Tommy."

"Calling it a sex fugue isn't quite accurate," Tommy said, and Lovett laughed like he'd expected it.

"Semantics."

"Jon didn't tell you either," Tommy pointed out, because he knew it would make Jon squawk, which he did, betrayed face materializing over Lovett's shoulder. Tommy smiled, a tendril of fondness spreading out over the pounding in his chest. "Just reminding you I'm not the only one you should be mad at."

"Oh, don't worry, he got an earful of it already," Lovett said, and Jon rolled his eyes. Lovett cleared his throat and waved a PADD in front of the camera; he was taking notes. "So, before we get to the other stuff, as your primary care provider—"

"Oh my God."

"—I'm going to ask you a couple of questions. How does this work?"

Tommy took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten in his head before exhaling again. "Pon farr is traditionally a Vulcan mating ritual," he said through gritted teeth. Lovett tried not to look too visibly delighted, but it didn't really work. "They mate for life, but I'm only half, so. I just have to do enough to get by. Usually meditation works."

Lovett cocked his head. "But…?"

"But whatever happened down on Bajor V messed me up a little," Tommy said, and the click of Lovett's fingers tapping on the PADD slowed. "A lot. This time it's not, uh, natural, so I'm feeling it more. I think the planet was trying to protect itself and knocked me out the only way it knew how. Scrambled the cycle."

"Okay," Lovett said, at the same time Jon leaned in, eyebrows furrowed, and said, "What does that mean?"

Something hot and pulsing lanced through Tommy's body from shoulder to hip, and he doubled over gasping, had to grab onto the edges of the intercom to stay upright. "Fuck."

"Tommy," came Lovett's voice over the intercom, steady and sure. "Hey, stay with us, buddy. Jon said it also went away if you fucked someone."

"Yeah," Tommy said, blinking through the spots in his vision. "Yeah, the last time this happened—Jon helped me with it." Something of an understatement; they'd been in their last year of command school at the time, and Tommy's vague, undisclosed illness had laid him out for the entire week of winter finals. Jon had been the only one brave enough to venture up to his quarters in the grad student dorms, too persistent to take no for an answer when Tommy refused to let him in. Tommy had been so afraid he'd break Jon, but when he touched his fingers to Jon's temple, he hadn't felt any fear at all. Just the kind of brash, stupid, resilient courage that made someone march up to his friend's door with no plan, or decide he wanted to become a Starfleet captain despite a debilitating childhood fear of flight. They hadn't talked about it, after, but Tommy still remembered what it was like being in Jon's head, wonderful and terrifying.

Lovett coughed delicately. "I'm gonna give that the attention it deserves later, but for now, in my professional opinion, I think you need to come back up here and let us take care of you."

"What?" Tommy said weakly.

"You said the meditation wasn't working, so the alternative is to fuck it out, right?"

"Jesus, Lovett." Tommy made eye contact with Jon again. "You agreed to this?"

Jon shrugged and smiled back at him like it was nothing. "Even if you didn't need it, I would've agreed."

Tommy felt a rush of feeling press against the back of his throat that had nothing at all to do with the early onset pon farr. Same old Jon, so recklessly earnest. He made everything sound so easy. "I, ah," Tommy said, trying not to think about both of them dead on the floor, glassy eyes staring back at him. That hadn't been real, no matter how it had felt at the time. "I don't want to hurt you."

"About that," Lovett said, squirming a little in his seat, voice cracking. "I think whatever you did when you touched me earlier transferred some of it to me, so you're not the only one dealing with this now."

"Oh," Tommy said, stricken. "Lovett—"

"If you say you're sorry, Tommy, I swear to God," he snapped, the bite back in his tone. "It's too late for that. Just get up here."

"You're sure?" His gaze flickered between them. "It's—I don't know how much Jon told you, but it's a lot."

Lovett tucked his chin in his hand, jaw set, eyes fiery with determination. The first time Tommy saw that expression, they'd been serving on the USS Excelsior together under Captain Edwards; _you aren't dying on my fucking watch_ , Tommy had heard Lovett yell during a firefight in the Akritiri jungles, shaking sweat and grime out of his bangs, hands trembling from the adrenaline rush. Lovett had proceeded to single handedly medevac what felt like half the entire colony back to their starship. A lot of treetops had been hacked apart that day, but Lovett got the job done through sheer force of will.

There was no arguing with Lovett after he accepted a challenge. It was usually a good thing when that worked out in Tommy's favor.

"Yeah, well," Lovett said, flicking his eyes over his shoulder at Jon. "Good thing there are two of us this time."

 

 

Later, Tommy wouldn't be able to recall how exactly he made it up to the living quarters on the second deck. It was hard to process anything but the infinitesimal impressions of what was happening around him: the clack of Tommy's shoes against the smooth dark floor beneath his feet, the way his stomach flipped when he thought about how Lovett's pulse had fluttered beneath his fingers, the curve of Jon's smile when he opened the door to let Tommy inside.

Lovett was already undressed and stretched out in bed, splotchy flush spread across his chest, hand wrapped around his dick. The image hit Tommy like a freight train, and when Lovett complained, "Why are you both so far away?" Tommy stripped his shirt off so quickly it was a wonder he didn't give himself a friction burn.

He hadn't realized how thoroughly his sweat had soaked through the fabric until it landed with a splat on Lovett's floor. "Gross," Lovett said, "you're cleaning that up," but his eyes were gleaming when he hooked his arms around Tommy's neck, and the rest of his sentence was lost when Tommy leaned down to kiss him.

 _I will_ , Tommy said.

Lovett gasped into his mouth, shifting beneath him. "You're—I can hear you in my—"

"Neat, right?" came Jon's voice, muted, like they were underwater and he was speaking from very far above them. Tommy resurfaced for a moment to wrap a hand around Jon's wrist and tug him in too, heard Jon's sharp hiss in his ears and in his head, and the rest blurred again until they were all naked and panting, until Tommy wasn't sure where his body ended and Jon's or Lovett's began.

He tried to put as much gratitude into the press of his mouth as he could, skating it across Lovett's smooth shoulder, the divot of Jon's collarbone. It had never felt like this before, touching someone, like he could taste every individual bead of sweat gathered on his tongue, the brine of it bursting in the back of his mouth. It had never felt like he could get lost in the rhythmic beating of their hearts, had never felt like time had slowed down so much that Tommy was moving through gelatin instead of air, had never felt like like he had been swallowed whole by a column of fire that would consume him, unless— _unless_ —

 _Mate for life, huh_ , he heard Jon say, echoing over the roiling feedback loop of their desire. _Didn't mention that last time._

 _Didn't want to scare you away_ , Tommy replied, because there was no use lying when they were connected like this. He thought about last time, leaving hickeys down the knobs of Jon's spine and pressing bruises into his hips, the sweet noises Jon made when he couldn't help himself anymore. How hard it was to bottle everything he felt away, after. They had been about to graduate soon, would be receiving posts of their own. Jon would be the captain of his own ship one day. Tommy hadn't wanted to tie him down, make it more than what it was. Vulcan traditions were well and good, but real people were messy. Not everything could last. Most things didn't.

 _Wow_ , Lovett said, coming up for air. He slouched back against the headboard and poked Tommy's shin with his foot. _You guys never talked about it? Some Chief Communications Officer you are._

"Shut up, Lovett," Tommy said out loud. He pinned the lower half of Lovett's body down on the mattress and sucked the tip of Lovett's dick in his mouth.

 _Shit_ , Lovett said, the beginning of a litany of cursing that reverberated through all their heads. When Lovett's toes curled into the sheets, Tommy could feel it; when Jon leaned in to slant his lips over Lovett's, Tommy could feel that too. It was new and strange to feel three bodies in one, three minds in one, slotting together alongside each other, but it wasn't bad. It was—perfect, even, the harmony of equilibrium making Tommy's heart soar. They didn't have the time or energy to feel self conscious about this, not when there was only one end goal in mind.

Tommy rolled his hips into the mattress to take the edge off, bobbed his head forward to take Lovett in deeper. Lovett made a choked noise into Jon's mouth. Jon's fingers glided down into Tommy's hair and twisted. For a long moment, they were all suspended together, balanced in the middle of the riotous maelstrom. Tommy felt flayed open, like the yearning would crack him in half, Lovett throbbing hot against his tongue, Jon's palm cupping the back of his head.

When Lovett came with a shout, it made Tommy's fingers and toes tingle, the waves of it crashing over all three of them.

Tommy pulled off him with a slick pop, wiping his mouth, and then turned toward Jon just as he was reaching out for him. "It's not going to take a lot," Jon murmured, sounding dazed.

His back arched as Tommy sucked two fingers in his mouth and then slid one down to probe Jon's asshole, pushing in slow. It was probably too much too soon, but Jon lit up just like he had the last time, opening up beautifully for Tommy's fingers, like the hormonal imbalance that had ripped down all of Tommy's carefully cultivated barriers was helping ease the way for Jon, too.

Jon looked up through his eyelashes at Tommy, the corner of his mouth lifting. _That all you got?_ he asked, and Tommy curled one loose hand around the base of Jon's dick and let himself take the bait.

Lovett rolled in to lay along Jon's side as Tommy pushed into him, and Jon tangled their hands together like he couldn't help wanting to be as close as possible. Tommy could understand the impulse. He bent forward to suck a mark into Jon's neck, hands tracing up the rungs of his ribcage. It was too hard for Tommy to keep the rocking in his hips steady, but Jon didn't seem to mind. He groaned when he came, making a mess of his stomach. Tommy fucked him through it, until he couldn't hold on any longer and followed Jon over the edge.

He couldn't tell whose hand was in his damp hair when he came down, but it didn't matter much. It felt good. That was all he cared about. He could feel the furnace in his chest expanding again, and he was pushing up on his hands and knees and reaching for Lovett before he could fully process what he was doing.

"What," Lovett said, thready.

"You ready for another round?" Tommy said, voice raspy and low. Lovett's eyes went round, and Jon's laughter ran through their heads like a bubbling creek.

"I told you he was intense," Jon said, too self-satisfied by half. When Tommy flicked his hip, Jon yelped, kicked out lazily at his knee, and propped himself up on one elbow to watch.

 

 

"I have a hypothesis," Lovett said at 0930 hours the next day, when the worst of the fever had broken and he was making them all drink as many fluids as they could possibly stand. ("Electrolyte replacement is extremely important after a hard workout, and this is the hardest one I've endured since we had to run away from those rock monsters on T'Khut." "Point taken, Lovett.")

"It's too early for your science," Jon groaned, rolling over and burying his head beneath a pillow.

"Tommy," Lovett said, clear-eyed and undeterred. "Maybe the sex fugue—"

"Pon farr, Lovett."

"—is worse when you're, um. You know. Not, like, _pining_ , but when you're around people you…" Lovett trailed off, looking a little embarrassed. "Care about. Or something."

"Who's the communications expert now," Tommy said, managing to keep a straight face for long enough that Lovett made an affronted noise and yanked a cushion from the floor to smack him with.

"That's what I get for trying to be sincere."

"Is the science over," Jon said, muffled in the sheets. Lovett smacked his back with the cushion too, but he was laughing too much for it to make any meaningful impact.

"It's a good hypothesis, Lovett," Tommy said as they both sobered. He swallowed around another mouthful of the blue Gatorade that Lovett had coaxed the replicator to spit out, turned the thought over in his head. Tommy's mother had always encouraged him to approach things logically, even after he'd left Vulcan. What Lovett proposed seemed logical enough, even if the sample size, as he'd say, was pretty small. "I'm not very good at talking about this stuff," Tommy continued slowly, "and I definitely don't want you to feel obligated to do any—"

Jon pulled his head out from beneath the pillow, hair sticking up wildly where it had been pressed into the mattress. "It's not an obligation," he said, steel running through his voice. "Tommy, you felt it last night. You could feel everything we did."

"I didn't want to assume," Tommy mumbled.

"It's not an assumption if we're telling you," Lovett said, equally emphatic. "Look, I'll even forgive you for keeping this from me all these years. There. Grudge gone."

"Well," Tommy said, the tips of his ears warming. "Okay, then." He glanced up at the smooth, sloped ceiling above their heads, because that was easier than looking either of them in the eye while saying it. "I do care about you. And thanks for helping me. Sticking around. Not a lot of people do that."

Thin fingers wrapped around his wrist. The overwrought touch telepathy of the previous night had mostly worn off by now, burned away like the fever, but Tommy could still hear it when Jon said, _Fuck those people, anyway_.

When Tommy looked down again, Lovett's eyes had narrowed at him, the way they always did before an uncomfortable question, or cutting comment, or both. "Hey, so," he said, deceptively casual. "You don't just not have sex in between every seven years of pon farr, right?"

Tommy felt his face go even hotter. "Uh, no. No, my dick works just fine under normal circumstances."

"Cool," Lovett said, decisive, and dove under the sheets to reach for him.

"What about—" Tommy bit out, hissing when Lovett's nails caught on his thigh. He managed to put his glass on the bedside table before it capsized and drenched the bed. "The ship, the mission, Captain's logs—"

"Travis and Pri took the new landing party down to gather information about the planet without your pesky touch telepathy interfering with their work," Jon said, flipping onto his back. "They're all decked out with psion blockers. And I left Corinne in charge of the bridge. She's very good at it, you know."

"Oh." Tommy blinked. "I'm glad that's settled."

"We do know how to run a starship, Tom."

Lovett poked his head out from beneath the sheets and grinned. "Let's get on with it, huh?"

Tommy glanced at Jon, who gave him a serene smile, and then back down at Lovett's hopeful face. He exhaled, leaned back against the headboard. Let himself relax— _truly_ relax—for the first time in as long as he could remember. "If you insist," he said, the corners of his lips rising, and sank his hands into Lovett's curls.


End file.
